It is an old saying that there is no combination or percentage known that can beat bull luck. Bowles was lucky; but he didn't know how lucky he was, never having seen a real bronk pitch. After Wa-ha-lote had had his run he changed his mind again and decided to be good, and when Bowles galloped him back to the ranch he was as gentle as a dog, and the top horse in the remuda. Even when Bowles started to rise to the trot the Water-dog was no more than badly puzzled.
By this time the outfit was pouring out the gate on their way to the belated round-up, and all except the principals had decided to take it as a joke. To be sure, they had lost an hour's daylight, and broken a few throw-ropes; but the time was not absolutely lost. Bowles would soon draw a bronk that would pitch, and then—oh, you English dude! They greeted him kindly, then, with the rough good-nature you read so much about, and as Bowles loosened up they saw he was an easy mark.
"Say, pardner," said one, "you sure can jump the fences! Where'd you learn that—back at Coney Island?"
"Coney Island nothin'!" retorted another. "W'y, Joe, you show your ignorance! This gentleman is from England—can't you see him ride?"
"Well, I knowed all along he was goin' to ride Wa-ha-lote," observed a third, oracularly. "I could tell by the way he walked up to him. How's he goin', stranger—make a pretty good buggy-horse, wouldn't he?"
"Yes, indeed!" beamed Bowles. "That is, I presume he would. He is one of the best gaited animals I ever rode. A perfect riding horse! Really, I can't remember when I've enjoyed such a glorious gallop!"
They crowded around him then, in an anxious, attentive cluster, still jabbing their horses with the spurs to keep up with Henry Lee but salting away his naive remarks for future reference.
Henry Lee was just making some little gathers near the home ranch while he waited for his neighbors to send in their stray men for the big round-up, and as the conversation rattled on in the rear he headed straight for a range of hills to the south. An hour of hard riding followed, and then, as they began to encounter cattle, he told off men by ones and twos to drive them in to the cutting ground. Hardy Atkins took another bunch of men and rode for a distant point, and soon the whole outfit was strung out in a great circle that closed in slowly upon a lonely windmill that stood at the base of the hills.
As no one gave him orders, Bowles tagged along for a while and then threw in with Brigham, hoping to imbibe some much-needed information about the cow business from him; but a slow, brooding silence had come over that son of the desert and he confined his remarks to few words.
"Don't crowd the cattle," he said; "and don't chase 'em. They's nothin' to it—jest watch the other hands."